The Wicked Awakening of Anne Merchant (10 page)

“Anne, it’s incredible!” he gasps, his perfectly straight teeth dazzling. Behind me, the last of the Guardians stream out noisily, letting the massive oak doors fall shut behind them. I turn to see them dart
onto the path others have stomped into the grass and whiz away— until Pilot tugs me back to him. Garnet has fled with the crowd. “You and me, we’re gonna get serious about the Big V now, Annie.”

“Don’t call me
Annie
. That nickname died when you did.”

He tries to catch his breath. “K. Fine. Walk and talk?”

Reluctantly, I turn toward the quad with him. The pack of Guardians has dispersed; a few that have found their students are whispering with them in little pairs next to Valedictorian Hall, in the middle of the quad, near the dorms, by the cafeteria, outside of the Rex Paimonde building and Heorot Hall—everywhere. A conversation finishes and a duo high-fives; another finishes and a Guardian and student actually hug.

“Anne, listen, I know we’ve had our differences.”

I laugh.

“But I want you to know that I’ve always, deep down inside, been fully committed to seeing you win the Big V. I was just doing what Mephisto told me to.”

“Sure.”

“Hey, you weren’t exactly a good friend to me, either.”

“This world is doomed if you’re giving lessons on how to treat people.”

“I faked a friendship with you—and I was only partly faking, Annie. But I didn’t kill you.”

“You faked a friendship with me so you could live while I died. You
would have
killed me. I just killed you faster.”

“You’re in a coma! You wouldn’t have died.” He can see I’m not buying it. “Look, I’m ready to help you win the Big V now. We can do this. Together.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“‘In it for’—Anne, whatever could you mean?”

Guessing it’s something big, I pull back. “Forget it. If you’re gonna lie to me—”

“Fine!” He stops me from leaving. And sighs. “I get something, too, if you win.”

The only reward that could possibly inspire Pilot hits me. “It’s life, isn’t it?”

“See? This is why you’re going to win! You’re razor sharp.” He smiles awkwardly as I roll my eyes. “Dia wanted to up the ante for
us. The winning Guardian gets one wish granted, and, yes, that could include a new life.”

“As long as there’s something in it for you, you’ll help me.”

“Totally!”

“That’s not something to be proud of, Pilot.”

“I’m helping you!” he defends, throwing his hands out and tracking me as I veer away. “How can you find fault in my motivations? So what if I get something? You’ll get something, too. And, Anne, you
can
win this. I happen to know you’ve got excellent untapped skills. We just have to change your PT, and you’re good to go.”

“We don’t
just have
to do anything. I’m alive, remember? I don’t need the Big V.”

“But we could win. Easily. Cakewalk.”

“I’m done with you, Stone! I wish I had Teddy as my Guardian again.”

He stops cold as I march on. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Go to Hell. Again.”

“Anne, there’s more to winning the Big V than a second life!”

Now I stop cold.

“It’s trivial stuff for most of us,” he continues. “But it could be big for you.”

I turn to him. “Spill it.”

“
Riches
.” He drags the word out. “Everything you’d need for a great new life. Valedictorians have gotta set up a new identity, move somewhere no one will recognize them, buy a house, go to school, get a car, all that stuff. Money was nothing for Mephisto, and it’s nothing for Dia. These rewards are a little extra perk for the person destined to be a great success in this world. You’d get…a lot. As in
never-worry-about-money-again
a lot.”

I could go to Brown.

Buy a New York brownstone.

Open an art gallery.

My dad could start new, too.

“Why is this the first I’m hearing of these ‘riches’?”

“Like I said, it’s small potatoes to most of us. Life is our big prize.” He can see me considering it, and I wish I could pretend I’m not intrigued. “We’d need to change your PT, though, to guarantee your victory. See, I work with Lou Knows—the janitor—and he told
me something about you. About your soul. Something I don’t think you know, but you really,
really
should.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure if I’m allowed to tell you. Just lemme find out—I don’t wanna piss anyone off. But, Annie, truly, if we change your PT to one that’s more like Harper’s—”

I should’ve seen that coming! Harper’s PT is to succeed by using her sexual desirability, which is possibly the most offensive PT ever committed in blood. Teddy spent his time as my Guardian trying to convince me that I was predisposed to such a PT, and now Pilot’s trying to do the same thing.

“Do you find it hard to look in the mirror?” I snarl.

His smile vanishes, and he grabs me by the arm. “Don’t make this worse than it has to be. It’s a simple win-win arrangement. You scratch my back—”

“And you’ll stab mine?” I free my arm. “Pilot, be real. This ‘magical reward’ Dia’s promised you? It’s impossible. You don’t have any blood or sources of
Pilot Stone’s
DNA. You’ve only got your soul, which was barely enough to qualify you as a human before.”

“He can make me human again.”

“Even powerful demons—even devils—even Lucifer—can’t
make
a human.”

The sunlight slips behind a cloud, and Pilot becomes a still, silent silhouette.

“Look, I’m sorry to rain on your parade.” I shove my fists into my cardigan pockets.

“You’re missing the obvious.” His voice is as cold as the wind blowing down from Canada. “Think of all the long-dead people who’ve left pieces of themselves behind. Frozen blood. Locks of hair. All perfectly usable DNA samples.”

“So you’re going to find Einstein’s hair and, like, be reborn as Einstein? Good plan.”

“I’m talking about sure things, Anne, not fantasy.”

“Right. Because you’re firmly planted in the real world.”

“Actual DNA,” he continues to explain. “The stuff you find in mummies. I’m talking about reincarnating as one of the kings who ruled thousands of years ago. Their souls have moved on, so there’s plenty of room for me under their skin. Museums are filled with
the DNA of ancient royals, and when my dad gets his hands on some”—he steps into the sunlight—“I can and will be born again. My soul. In the body of King Tutankhamen.”

“You realize Tut had a super-long head and a cleft palate, right?”

“Don’t mock me.”

“To mock you, I’d have to entertain the possibility of this actually happening for you, or of me helping you. Let me clear this up for you right now: it’ll be a cold day in your neck of the woods before I fight for the Big V.” His frustrated glare follows me as I spot Ben and start away. “I don’t want your prize, Pilot. I wasn’t kidding when I threw your vial over the cliff. You deserve to be exactly where you are.”

B
EN AND
I are on the fourth floor of the library. He is flipping through a massive Latin dictionary, and I’m reading about the celestial rules believed to dictate the creation of human beings.

“See!” I say, smacking the page every time some ancient religious scholar proves me right. “Dia would need a physical human body to put Pilot’s dark, ugly little soul in. And to create that body, he’d need the combined DNA, masterfully united, of two humans. He ain’t got that. Those are the rules.
Boom
.”

“‘Invidia’ means
envy
,” Ben tells me.

“And,” I continue uninterrupted, “although these books are a tad outdated, it seems like every time the underworld has tried to make a human, it’s been a disaster. The closest was Jack the Ripper, so”—I meet eyes with Ben—“
clearly
the recipe is still in the test-kitchen phase.”

The lights and the heat on this little-visited floor of the library have been off, broken, or flaky for as long as Ben can remember, which is why we’re sitting in a circle of candles of all shapes and sizes, some of them scented. We’re reading over their dim glow, rubbing our hands every so often over their flickering flames, and starting to get a little hungry from the aroma of melting vanilla and brown sugar. Outside, it’s dark already, and sleet hits the windows with flat thuds. If Ben hadn’t spazzed about our uberbrief kissing session the other night, I might think something would happen here,
in this perfectly romantic setting. But there’s room for a whole extra person to sit between us.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Something about wanting a fresh-baked cookie?” I guess and blow out the vanilla candle. “You
actually
said”—I put my book down—“that
invidia
means
envy
. In Latin.”

“And
superbia
means
pride
. And
avaritia
means
greed
.
And
…”

“And? Am I supposed to be following your train of thought?”

“The seven deadly sins. Pride, greed, envy, and so on. Invidia is one of them.”

“Maybe that’s, like, her special demon power or something: to inspire envy.”

“Or,” Ben positions a candle under his chin to cast dramatically eerie shadows over his face, “she
is
envy.”

I nod and whisper, “She’s
totally
envy. I guessed that she was one of the Seven Sinning Sisters—she left Mephisto for Dia—but I hadn’t realized they are the seven deadly sins…personified.”

“Where’d you hear all that?”

“Teddy told me.”

Oops. I’m supposed to hate Teddy, not reveal our private convos. My easy tone hasn’t escaped Ben’s attention. Leaning back on his hands, he chews his lip as he observes me.

“Why was Teddy telling you all this?”

Keeping Teddy’s secret mission for me from Ben will be about as hard as keeping your heart from knowing what your brain is doing. I don’t want to keep secrets. But until I talk to Teddy more, I’m not going to risk anything.

“You know me,” I say. “People just love spilling their souls to me.”

“I actually
haven’t
noticed that.”

“Maybe it’s just demons then.” Time to maneuver back to safer territory. “Mr. Zin, you are a smart dude, figuring out who Invidia is. I guess I know why my ego takes a beating every time I see her. She makes me envy her.”

After a beat, he confesses, “She makes me feel inferior.”

“Envy.”

I scoot next to him and, careful not to knock a big pillar candle over, tug his book until it’s half on his lap, half on mine. We read everything we can about the Seven Sinning Sisters.

“Pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth,” Ben reads. “Those would be some powerful demons to have on your side. They were all Mephisto’s?”

“That’s what Teddy said. But, you know. Who would trust him?” I choke.

He continues reading aloud, but, word by word and line by line, I find myself thinking more about the fact that my left knee is pressed against his right knee, part of his thigh is against mine, and our shoulders brush every time his chest rises with a deep breath. He smells delicious. His hands are very strong looking. And there’s no denying that he’s most irresistible when he’s either reading or talking about books. But he’s made it clear that he doesn’t want to move too fast, not that I do, either—but I think he may have more self-control than I do. So, to keep from throwing myself at him, I slam his book closed.

“What just happened?” he asks with a smile.

I grab his hand and jump to my feet, tugging him up. “Let’s look up Dia Voletto next.”

Ben and I dart down to the first floor, where a few Guardians and their students angrily hush our excited whispers, and dash to the card catalog. In our previous lives, we both lived in the library, so we’re fine with the Dewey decimal system, which Harper’s peon Plum is groaning about near the periodical section. Hurriedly, we find four cards for books that mention or are about Dia Voletto.

“He’s the demon of ego,” Ben reads on a card as we take the stairs two at a time back to the fourth floor. Only to find the books on Dia Voletto are all gone.

“He took them,” I say.

“What more could we expect from the demon of ego?”

“Major faux pas.” We settle back to the middle of the ring of candles, which thankfully haven’t burned the place down in our absence. “Stealing books from the library.”

“Yeah. If he wasn’t already condemned to Hell.”

I begin closing the books. And Ben stacks them. But we’re moving at about half speed. I pray he’s killing time for the same reason I am: I don’t want a reason to leave. I’ll gladly pretend we need to be here as long as possible. I don’t want to go yet. I can’t imagine ever wanting to go.

When we’ve made towers of the books we read, books Ben has been reading for years, he starts unfolding dog-ears, and I pull my knees into my chest as I watch him. He’s talking absently about the world of demonology, and it’s not until he sighs and sits back that I realize I haven’t told him about his dad. He notices my face drop, and he comes to my side, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

“What is it?”

“I saw your dad today.”

“Was he sober, by chance?”

I turn to look him in the eyes. “He was burned. On his neck. And he looked…dejected. Like he’d lost all hope.”

“He probably has.”

“Ben.”

He shrugs. “
‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.’
My dad held out longer than the average man would.”

“Hiltop said your dad wanted the burns. As a reminder of your car accident.”

“He’s doing what he has to do to cope. Y’know, with my decision to die.”

“But if you were to fight for the Big V…”

“I’m not going to fake I’m into Garnet. Please, Anne. Drop it.”

He lifts my hand and holds it up flat, and we watch as he folds his fingers between mine. The lines distinguishing my skin from his blur, like they’re glowing at the edges, like we’re melting into one person.

“More spirit than flesh,” I whisper.

He brings our hands to his lips. And, when he doesn’t let up, I shift until my lips are pressed against the other side of the fist we’ve made. Our eyes meet. We lower our hands.